The Elf King by Sean McKenzie

room brought Wilt Oan to a sitting position
instantly. His eyes frantically peered into the dimness. He found
his chamber door slightly ajar. His pulsed raced. The thudding of
footsteps lunged out of the darkness and before he could act,
several bodies, robed and hooded, were striking at him with fists
and wooden objects. Cloth was violently jammed into his mouth
before his voice could make words. He caught sight of a large sack,
and the clanking of chains was obvious. The little fighting he did
went unnoticed. He could taste blood in his mouth; he felt a sting
to his head repeatedly. He had been too late to flee the city, he
thought grimly.
    Two sets of arms pinned the
old man down and as another brought the large sack onto his head;
Wilt Oan heard the door crash open. Instantly his attackers
scattered. The sounds of metal and iron striking against one
another filled the room as Wilt removed the cloth sack. He watched
a tall man fight his way into the crowd, his sword moving faster
than Oan could follow. One by one Wilt’s attackers fell to the
ground.
    “ Are you hurt, old
man?”
    Oan was surprised. “Datris?
That you?”
    The Head of the Red Knights
moved closer to the old man, his long sword tainted red. The light
from the hallway spilled into the room and Wilt Oan could see the
other’s face clearly. “They were going to kill me. You’ve arrived
just in time, old friend.” Visibly shaken, Wilt Oan sat on his bed
and took a few moments to gather himself.
    Kloe Datris looked the room
over. Satisfied that they were alone, he walked to the door and
barred it shut, lit a lantern placed on the table, then walked over
to Wilt’s side.
    “ You cannot stay here, Oan.
Your life is in danger.” Kloe Datris kept his voice low, hushed,
his eyes demanding.
    Wilt was angry as he tried
to gather his composure. “Fools! They want me dead! These people
will not be satisfied until they have me spitting
blood!”
    “ It is not the people,
Oan.” Kloe bent in close. “The Queen wants you dead. I was sent to
make sure that you did not live through the night.”
    Wilt Oan’s body slumped
instantly as if he was deflating. “So that is it. She would kill me
to close all loose ends.”
    Kloe Datris moved in close
enough to count the old man’s eyelashes. “She wants you dead
because she knows you were in the tunnel with the King. She thinks
you saw too much, Oan.”
    Wilt shook his head. “I do
not understand.”
    “ Do you know who it was to
enter the royal bedchamber last?”
    Oan’s posture stiffened.
“Elves?”
    Kloe Datris shook his head.
“They are only a scapegoat, same as you.”
    “ Who then? Tell me,
Datris.”
    Kloe Datris hesitated
briefly. “I followed the King through the tunnel, Oan. Same as I do
everywhere. The Queen knows you were there. But she didn’t know I
was. I saw her enter the room that night, Oan. I saw her leave
through the tunnel as well.”
    Wilt shook his head in
disgust. “You can’t believe that she—”
    Kloe placed one strong hand
over the old man’s mouth. “Listen to me, Oan. What I saw does not
make sense. But I do know that no elf was seen. And the pressure
put on your death is tremendous.” Kloe removed his hand, giving Oan
a hard look. “I will allow your release, Oan. Leave. Tell no one
what we’ve spoke of.”
    Voices in the hall startled
Kloe Datris, leaving him to stare at the door with expectance. But
the voices carried on, fading away. He turned back to the old man
and pressed his decision.
    “ You will be dead before
dawn, if you do not leave.”
    “ Turyn was waiting for a
sorcerer,” the old man remembered suddenly. “This may be of use to
us. If I could get to him before the Queen...”
    Wilt was kept in place by a
firm hand from the other. Kloe shook his head again. “You need to
leave this city tonight. Whatever business this sorcerer has, I
will know. Flee, old man. Go someplace safe, for you are dead
here.”
    Wilt Oan agreed. “Fair
enough. I will go